A Different Kind Of Love

Last Sunday, after church, The Fiancé and I went up to Tanjung Bungah for a simple choo char lunch that consisted of Belacan Fried Chicken, Leong Wong Tan, and Mixed Vege Soup. But unlike the many other times before, that Sunday, the cook was very heavy-handed with his garlic. And me and garlic? We don't go very well together. (They tend to give me fevers when consumed in high-ish doses.) So... The Fiancé took one look and immediately said, "Wait." He then pushed all the garlic on the Leong Wong Tan aside for me before adding, "Be careful. Don't eat. Garlic makes you sick."

Garlic bits pushed to one side and safely out of my reach.

*heart melts*

He doesn't really buy me flowers, doesn't bring me for fancy dress-up dinners, or shower me with lots of PDA. But he makes up for it in other ways. Like doing his best to make sure that I am always kept out of harm's way. Even with the little things. Like too much garlic. So, yes. I tell myself that he cares. And he loves me. In ways few women like myself appreciate. Because his love rarely comes in the form of lavish or romantic gestures. No, my fiancé is a practical man. But practicality isn't always a woman's forte. So, I learn. To pay attention to the things he does instead of the things he says. And I learn to read and understand his language of love that doesn't come in the form of sentences of words.